


Going Insane

by sunrisebeanie



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Books, Cold, Dreams, Everyone Is Gay, Eye Contact, Fear, Football, Gen, Going missing, Inner Dialogue, Internalized Homophobia, Journalism, Kissing, Love Letters, Manipulation, Mentions of Death, Murder, Murder Mystery, Mystery, Nightmares, POV First Person, Senior year, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-18 11:27:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29367738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunrisebeanie/pseuds/sunrisebeanie
Summary: It's finally senior year for Dream; the final year of college football, the year before everything gets even more real. But what he doesn't know is that this year may not go how it's expected...The year starts out pretty normal, as normal as it can get for a closeted bisexual football player who's found their person. It starts to get easier, the feelings becoming smoother, George being the person and all.But people start going missing left and right, people he knows, people George knows. It has to be a coincidence that George canceled plans the night before every one of them went. Right?
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 31





	1. The Answer Lies Ahead

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! This is the first chapter of the story I'm starting called Going Insane. I did a prequel a while back, so if you want a deeper look into what this story is going to be about, I would recommend reading it! 
> 
> There will be some parts of this story where there will be more gory, murderous scenes, in which I will be putting all the warnings in the notes at the beginning.
> 
> This chapter is a bit slow and a little uneventful (compared to future plans I have, so maybe it's just me), but I PROOOOMISE all the chapters after this are so worth the wait. I hope you like it :)

****_Senior year of college, damn,_ Dream thought to himself as his eyes swayed across the campus. His backpack swings from his left shoulder and his football bag dangles across his right. Football camp had started mid-summer, and though he didn’t like to admit it, it created a flaming confidence boost in his abilities and looks. He spots a few of his friends a few hundred feet away and decides to make his way over, being courteous of the mass amounts of students walking on the winding pathways.

“Hey guys!” He waves as he approaches the group, all of them lighting up as soon as they see him.

“Yo Dream! Long time no see! How are you dude?” Rhys asks, quickly stepping forward to steal a quick hug from him. “You look good.”

A slew of memory floods him. _Dream._ Dream is the nickname that was given to him through his football career in college. _I’ve missed this place._

“Rhys! I’m good, missed you guys though,” He looks around at the full circle of people. “And thanks! You do too. How are you?” 

“I’m pretty grea-” The piercing sound of the first bell interrupts him mid sentence. He looks to Dream and grins, patiently waiting for the bell to quit. “Anywho, let’s catch up later. My class is all the way across campus. See you!” Before Dream gets a chance to respond, Rhys was already waving across his shoulder. _See you later, Rhys._

He pulls out his phone to refresh the memory of which classes he had. _Okay, Creative Writing, Mathematics, Geor-_ He catches his thoughts and shakes his head, _Complex Analysis, then my other core classes, then football. Right, okay. Focus._

He takes a breath and starts off to his class. Dream is well known through the school, being on the team and all, so he exchanges waves and hello’s on his way to class. He finally got to his building and pulled open the door with ease. This class always goes by pretty quickly, so he allows himself to calm down and breathe a little. 

As he suspected, the bell rings in what feels like a blink of an eye. His classmates scramble for their things, trying to be the first one out the door. Dream sits back for a minute, letting most of the room to clear before he even attempts to get up. The only reason all of the students want out fast is because they’re all the “preppy” kids, always early to class, which he is to an extent. Trying to balance such a high education with football is difficult, but somehow he manages it well.

His creative writing class always goes by really fast because of how much he enjoys it. He has been interested in story writing since he was young, and this class gives him a lot of creative freedom, even if he’s given topics to write on. Class zips by. He feels himself dive into a deep writing trance until the blaring of the bell sends a ring through his ears. Realizing he was hunched over while writing, he reaches his arms up and stretches for a brief moment, then packs his bag for the next class.

Assuming his Mathematics class would run fast and smoothly was a mistake. It’s a more general class, which he’s only in because he needed a filler class. It’s full of unmotivated stoners who look as though they don’t even want to be there. _This isn't highschool… why are they even here?_ As he sits there impatiently, his leg starts to shake, rattling the chains on his backpack. He looks down at the chains, then back up to the boared, disregarding the clanking because he’s already annoyed. He locks his fingers together and puts them under his chin, letting his eyes wander around the room. The teacher must have noticed his wandering eyes somehow and calls on him.

“Clay,” A voice barks, “would you mind heading up here and writing out this equation?” 

For a second, he’s taken aback, no one ever calls him by his real name anymore, besides his Darryl and a few others. He rests his hands on his desk and meticulously pushes his chair back, giving him room to escape his corner. Watching his step, he carefully walks down the steps and strides towards the chalkboard. The teacher hands him a piece of chalk and Dream’s mind races. _What am I writing?_ He looks around wildly at the surrounding problems and manages to piece together what he’s supposed to be writing… he hopes. He lets his wrist guide the strokes of chalk, his writing legible and to the point. When he finishes the equation he steps back to admire his work. 

“Perfect! Good job!” He looks at his teacher and nods with a smile, then looks around the room to see the surprised looks on everyone's face. Anytime any student solves an equation, the rest of the class is stunned because most of them are completely lost. Although this boosts his ever-growing ego, he wishes other people would actually put in _some_ effort. _Dumbasses._

  
  
After many minutes of constantly answering questions and helping others on their papers, the bell finally rings. He returns to his seat and slumps into the uncomfortable plastic, preparing himself for his next class. _It’s only going to be weird if you make it. Don’t make it weird, just be yourse- your football self. Your school self. Yeah, that._ He sighs and stands up reluctantly, grabbing his bags in an orderly fashion, and exiting the classroom.

He starts walking slower than usual, the amount of heartache that is flowing though his body feels like it's restricting him. Once he arrives at the classroom door, his whole body freezes. _Just open it. It’ll be okay, it's just an hour and a half._ Half-heartedly, he wraps his hand around the door handle and pulls it down, allowing the door to inch open. He pauses to take in a deep breath, then continues in. Immediately feeling eyes on him, he turned and forced a smile to a few faces scattered around class while looking around the room. Eyes darting, he finds whose gaze is stuck upon him. _George._ He was smiling at him with a knowing look. _Of course he is._ He feels his heart palpitating, his chest heavy. _No, stop it. You can’t do this, you can’t be like this, this isn’t like this._

He gently places his bags on the floor next to his seat, breathing in and out heavily to get rid of the unnerving sensation running cold through his body. Dream runs his fingers through his hair, tracing them down his neck, then his chest. His focus draws towards George, who’s sitting with his foot on his chair and his arm resting on his knee. His body looks limp and relaxed. Dream notices that George is smiling at him with that lip-filled smirk. _What do you want?_ He raised his eyebrow playfully, causing George to look away, suddenly seeming very interested in the word of the day. He rolls his eyes and turns his attention to the words written on the board with the curriculum scribbled on to distract him, reading but not processing the words. 

**Go to page 423 of your textbook and read it over if you haven’t already.**

**A few of you are going to be presenting your interpretation of what's written today.**

**Be ready to present, you may** **not** **bring the book up with you.**

  
  


He rests his shoulders and swings his head around in a smooth circular motion. _This should be easy._ The page consists of multiple explanations for different equations and theorems, which he already has memorized. Nonetheless, he reads over the page as many times as he can before the time is up, just to be safe. His professor -- Professor Darryl -- hits a ruler on his desk a few times to gather the students attention. 

“I’ll be choosing 3 people to present, it will be random.” The professor looks around the room for a minute, studying the class with a satisfied smile. He walks over to his computer and Clay watches as he pulls up a random generator.

  
  


Dream can feel the energy in the room, the quiet yet anxious excitement that bubbles up when it comes to presentations, or anything, really. He loves this class. Everyone is so passionate about it, about being able to interpret complex things and being able to translate them. It makes him happy too, to the point where he can’t help but smile.

“Lae, I guess you’re up first!” Everyone's attention turns towards her. She stood from her chair and shoots a look over to Dream, flashing him a sweet smile before quickly looking away. The hair on the back of his neck stands up, skin feeling like it's on fire against a pair of observing eyes. He knows who they belong to. He gets the sudden urge look back at George and tries to suppress it, feeling his head start to turn towards him anyways. George wasn’t looking at him anymore, but the small grin on his lips told him everything. _He has those glasses on again._ Dream observed, his gaze flittering over every detail, every feature. _I swear he only wears those in this class to mess with me._ Reluctantly, he pulls his head to face forward once more and lets his eyesight go blurry as he zones out. _You can’t slack off in this class._ His eyes open and shut rapidly while he sits himself upright in his chair, attempting to fix his posture.

“Beautifully worded. Thank you Lae.” Dream blinked. _Wait, I missed the whole thing?_ He looked up, surprised and internally scolding himself. _It’s okay, there's two more people to listen to._ He’s almost fully confident he won’t have to present, even if the generator picked him. Professor Darryl is one of his favorite teachers and someone he trusts. He’s one of the few people who know about George, as embarrassed as that made Dream. Darryl has seen how he gets around George, just the mention of his name makes him perk up or get nervous. Half of him hated the way George had so much power over him, so much control without even knowing it. But the other half of him couldn’t get enough.

“Jackson, you’re up!” Darryls voice surfaces him from his thoughts as he tries to focus. He lifts up the ruler and points to the area where he is sat. Dream spots a soft smile painted on Jacksons’ lips. The feeling he gets in his stomach when he sees it makes him sick. The feeling stops his breath. _I thought this type of feeling was only for George?_

This presentation feels different, it’s keeping his attention more than Lae’s did. He forces his mind to wander away from whatever conclusions he's creating and looks over at George, who is slouched back in his seat, watching as Jackson wrote. Dream feels his leg start to bounce again but allows it to keep going this time. He looks longingly down at his headphones, wishing he could walk down the sidewalk with his music blaring right now. Nonetheless, he slouches back into his chair and keeps his attention on the board.

After what feels like thirty minutes, Jackson finally finishes his explanation. “That was very well-put, thank you, Jackson.” Professor Darryl says with praise. Jackson replies with a nod and a smile, then turns his gaze to the carpet beneath him as he walks back to his seat. Darryl looks to his computer once more and shuffles the list for the last time. Dream winces at the thought of presenting with his state of mind right now. Under his breath he chants, _please don’t be me, please don’t be me._ “Clay!” Darryl sends him a sympathetic look. _God no._

He stands up from his seat easier than he thinks he would, his body full of hesitation. _It’s fine, just focus on the question. Please._ Dream turns to the class for a brief moment trying to calm himself down, then turns his attention to the blank chalkboard. His eyes close and he takes a deep breath, _just breathe._ His hand begins to write everything from muscle memory which shocks him, but he doesn’t stop it. He’s impressed with the knowledge flowing from the piece of chalk but tries not to laugh at the fact that he’s impressed by _chalk_. He steps back from his work, checking over it one last time before he allows his Professor to see. 

Dream stands there and observes the class’ reaction to his work while also allowing time for the other students to process the work. He sees a few nods of approval, following slight smiles from friends. Without even thinking, he lets his eyes wander over to George. He’s smiling wider than he’s seen him ever before, _what now? Are you going to start clapping?_ He starts clapping slowly as if he read his mind. Dream feels a blistering redness take over the pale color of his face. He whips his head down, full of an atypical feeling of self-consciousness. Nothing ever really makes him lose his self-esteem, but this is really hitting him in a different way. While he’s in his own world, other students start clapping along with George. At the beginning of his presentation, he didn't feel many eyes on him, which was a relief, but now? Every eye is on him; everyone's attention is focused on him, even Darryl is clapping now. 

  
_No way I’m getting out of this one._ He allows a smile, looking to every face he can catch. He looks over to Professor Darryl, who simply gives him a smile of approval, then motions for him to be seated. ON the way back to his seat, George stands up and holds out his fist, expecting a fist bump. Dream looks down at his hand, makes a fist out of it, and returns the manner, a grin creeping onto his face. _Wow, he's really trying to impress me with an “I’m trying to be cool” fist bump right now._ After a moment, he realizes George has his hand hovering over his, dropping a note into his. _A note?_


	2. Can't Shake This Feeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He read the note, he asked questions, he went through with plans, yet he still somehow came out of it empty. Why?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [make sure you've read the warnings, although none of them stand for this chapter - no gore, blood, heavy descriptions of such.]  
> Hi again! So sorry for how long this took me -- I didn't expect it to take this long. But here it is! I'm truly excited because, after this chapter, the pace may be starting to pick up.  
> Life is about to get crazy, crazy busy for me, but I am going to try my hardest to update this story when I can, which will hopefully be sooner than a month :p  
> Thank you for your patience! I hope this was worth the wait!

_A note?_

His eyes run up George's body to his soulful eyes, looking into them with deep confusion. George gives him a nod of reassurance, then sits back down in his chair, looking anywhere but back up at him. He looks down at his hand again and makes a tighter fist. He is filled with heartache, but he can’t tell if it’s because of George’s presence or the anticipation of reading the little folded note. Dream sets off to his seat, still having to climb a few steps to get there. The chair was left out because of the shock he got when called upon. He slowly sits himself down onto his chair, hands resting on his desk to help lower him, but the one is still in a fist.

He inhales a deep, long breath before even thinking of opening his hand to reveal the note. His mind had gone blank of any other thought; it just was torn between different possibilities: _Is this another confession? Is this a date? Is this a question or an “I love you”?_

\--------

Sophomore year of college was when they had met, and it was the first time Dream had felt that _feeling;_ of lust, of confusion, of fear. He hated it, but at the same time, he loved it. For all the months after -- although the feelings had become fainter -- he knew there was something different about him. George was always so kind to him, but had an edge that you couldn't miss. The way the room would, and still does, light up when he walked into it, and the joy he brought other people. But there was something else about him that Dream had noticed, this mysterious aura that was always floating around him. Despite wanting to ask questions, he always held back, in fear of any reply other than, “You’re an idiot, Dream.”

\----------

At last, he opens his clenched fist, drops the note on the table, and just stares at it. His left arm was dangled to his side, his right gripping onto the side of his chair. _It’s not going to open itself, just open it._ He uses his thumb and pointer finger to pick up the note finally, then proceeds to use his other hand to help open it. It’s folded meticulously, maybe 6 folds in all different directions. To his surprise, the note reads:

_senior night is still happening, right?_

_could I go with you? not like I won't go anyways but…_

He can’t help but let out a low wheeze, _I completely forgot about that._ He eyed George, and finds his gaze returned. George raises his eyebrows, wanting an answer to his question. Dream nods, a wide smile spreading across his face like a forest fire. George pumps his fist in triumph, silently mouthing “ _Yes!”_ His heart is overcome with joy -- fear -- and he can’t help but keep that smile on his face for the remainder of the time in class. 

_Ding, ding, ding_

_The release bell._ He gets his bags quickly and makes his way towards George, eager to set their plans in action. He waits a little ways behind his seat as he gets his stuff together. George turns around and jumps back. “Dream! My god, you scared me, you idiot.” He laughs through his words. 

Dream chokes up a giggle, “I was just coming to make sure of our pla-” He chokes up, realizing that he can’t go with him, at least not obviously. He grabs George by the sleeve of his sweater and drags him out of the class, finding a safe and private place to talk. “George. I forgot I’m not even out to-” He pauses, his eyes going wide. “Wait, on what terms are we on right now? Like, what are _we_ right now?”

George hesitates. “Well, seeing as you’re still closeted, and seem a little uncomfortable around me in public, I don't know, Dream. _What_ are we?” 

Dream hears him mumble something under his breath but it's too muffled to understand. He pauses, his thoughts running wild. Finally managing to pull a clear thought out of the mess that is his brain, he places his hand under George’s chin. “We’ll find a way, we’ll figure this out, I promise,” He moves his hand down and closes it, leaving his pinky out. “Pinky promise.” He says through a smile. George rolls his eyes, embracing Dreams’ pinky in his.

George opens his hand, taking Dreams' in his. “If you’re not comfortable with me going on Friday, we can hang out after, I swear I’d be okay with that.” He claims reassuringly, his eyes soul-searching in Dreams’.

“I don’t know. I’ll message you later” Dream checks his watch, _shit._ He looks up to George again. “I have to get to class, catch you later!” His body flings close to Georges, laying a kiss on his smooth cheek. He can feel his own face blush a bright red, so he turns away quickly. His heart palpitates with joy until his stomach hurts. He allows his legs to carry him habitually towards his next class, thoughts of George filling his mind. 

His next few classes whizz by in record time. The only thing he can grasp is the chilling realization that the whole football team, along with others, will be there on Friday night. What’s even more nerve-racking is that he’s never been open about -- anything really. _I can’t just show up with George. Well, I guess I could. No, there would be too many questions asked, I’m not ready for that yet. Hell, I probably wouldn’t be able to answer them._

  
  


Dream ends up in the football locker room before his brain fully processes anything that’s happened. He pulls out his phone and clicks on messages, then George’s contact. His heart starts to race, which confuses him a little bit, but he pushes the feeling aside to focus on how he should word this. He can imagine a rush of disappointment and sadness running through George. He can just imagine him thinking, “Is he ashamed of me?” Dream shudders, his body seems to know that if he keeps thinking about the bad, he’ll just pull away altogether. He begins to type slowly, reading every sentence through twice in his head: 

_I’ve thought about it, and I don’t think I’m ready for them to know yet… It’s just the beginning of the year, and if they’re jerks about it- I don’t wanna have to deal with this for a whole year. I’m sorry. You can still come but we can go get some dessert after? I don’t have to stay long._

After he pulls himself out of his phone, he notices he isn’t alone in the locker room anymore, so he sets off to the bathroom stalls. As he enters a stall, his finger hesitantly hovers over the blue arrow. _Maybe I should just call him later?_ He tilts his head up, his mind racing with the different options he has. _Football starts in 15, giving me an extra 5 to call him if I feel the need to._ Dream contemplates for a moment, then decides it might be better to call him, to hear his voice. He highlights his message and copies it, saving it just in case he doesn’t answer the phone. Swiping out of messages, he goes to the phone app and finds George’s contact. He holds the phone up to his ear, hearing the ringing repeat over and over. He waits, but after about a minute with no one talking back to him from the other end, he drops his hand down. As the hand with his phone in it hits his leg, his finger hits the ‘end call’ button. 

Dream rests his thumb and pointer finger on the bridge of his nose and slides his body down the wall, ending up on the floor of the bathroom. He lifts up his phone and swipes back to his message. Without a second thought he presses send, knowing that if he hesitates, the message won’t get sent at all. He drops his head, his hands resting over his eyes. His mind draws a blank, the blackness of the inside of his eyelids mocking this empty feeling. Voices start to scatter through his unoccupied thoughts

_No, snap out of it._ _Save it for when you’re home._

_It’s okay to cry._

_We don’t cry here, toughen up._

_It’s okay, Dream._

He snaps his head up, wiping his eyes and pushing himself off the ground with his other hand. The door to the bathroom creaking open is what startles him back into reality. His hand flies over to flush the toilet -- to act like that's why he’s in here. Gingerly, he runs his hands down his face and bats his eyes, preparing himself for the conversation that may strike up. His lungs inflate with the crisp air surrounding him as he places his hand on the stall door handle, pulling it slowly open. Dream peeks his eyes around, seeing that his teammate is already in one of the stalls, _What a relief._ He quickly washes his hands and escapes through the door, heading to his changing area in the locker room. His clothes were neatly folded in his bag by his mother, just like they always were. 

_3:14 -- 16 minutes._ His mind is restless, rushing with thoughts of tonight, football, and what he’s going to tell his dad if he and George become an item. As he changes, his eyes races across the wall, from name to name while a new thought enters his head: this is his last year here. This is his chance to do what he wants; his chance to be himself. 

_3:22 -- 8 minutes._ He grabs his football bag, along with his school bag, and heads to the locker room door. The wind-filled air blows his hair around as he opened the door. He allows the fresh air to inflate his lungs and holds it there, preparing himself for this 2 and a half-hour practice. _Use your anxiousness to go good,_ he recites to himself shakily.

Dreams shoes finally meet the grassy field, the blades of his cleats digging into the soft earth. Every step towards his teammates becomes smoother and smoother because of the dirt building between the metal. He’s greeted with nods and friendly handshakes. _This should be good for me today. Just let yourself play, D. No holding back._ He lets go of his thoughts as practice begins. It starts off with their typical runs and stretches, then goes onto tactics and defense work. 

He feels a sense of freedom on the field, being able to mentally escape from the chaos of school — of George. Feeling the wind flow through the bars of his helmet is something he always looks forward to. 

His legs carry him across the field, up and down. The aching of his lungs is prominent, but nothing can hold him back from showing his best. He’s gone his whole life feeling the need to prove he's something special, that he's not just ‘someone’. Football is something he can shine through, and he’s taken advantage of that. 

“Dream,” His coach yells. “I want to talk to you.”

Dream jogs over to his coach and stands with his shoulders in line with his, their eyes connecting. “What’s up, Coach?” He makes sure his posture is tall and affirming.

“You’ve been pushing yourself more and more, a few NFL recruiters have talked to me about you.” He looks to Dream with a fondness glowing in his complexion. “They want to talk to you.”

Dream stands there in front of his coach in awe, his smile wider than it's been in a long while. “No way, really? That's insane, thank you, Coach.” He holds out his hand, receiving a firm handshake. 

“Don’t thank me, thank yourself.” He nods, beaming, then gestures Dream towards the field. “Well, back to work!” 

Dream nods back with a smile and returns to his drills, the incredible news driving him through until the end of practice. Coach blows his whistle -- indicating that the practice has concluded. He runs over to the bench and crouches down, pouring a mouthful of water while doing so. His head leans back with his body as he holds his weight with his left arm, grasping the edge of the bench. His eyes shut -- his thoughts wander. _George is going to be so proud of me._

His body jolts up when he remembers the text he sent George. Dream jumps up, and grabs his bags, waving to his buddies at the same time. His hand reaches into his backpack, fishing for the phone he dropped in before practice. _Ah, there,_ he whispers, clicking the home button of the phone. His eyes quickly glance over the locked screen. 

_Message from George:_

Dream quickly opens his phone so he can see the whole message. His fingers hesitantly and slowly presses the message, revealing the short few lines George replied with.

_hey, don’t be sorry. i get it. of course, we can get dessert after, i could always just meet you there if you don’t want to drive together?_

A sigh of relief escapes his mouth, thankful for how understanding George always is. He shuts off his phone as he arrives to his car. His hand slips into the small pocket of his backpack to grab his keys, dropping his phone back in to free a hand. The car door unlocks with a quick click to the remote, and Dream opens the back door. He carefully rests his things on the backseat then closes the door. His hand wraps around the drivers' side door — lungs inflating and deflating deeply — and rests there for a moment. _I have 2 hours to prepare myself for this night. Deep breaths, it’s all gonna work out. Right?_

Dream has the radio up high as he drives to his apartment complex. He lets the lyrics of each song wash over him like water while he sings along. His favorite thing is being alone with music. It’s a type of freedom from the outside world for him, even when he's right in the middle of it. 

He smoothly pulls into the parking lot and parks his car. He tilts his chin up and rests his head on the headrest behind him -- his jawline getting tighter than it already is. His eyes wander over the beaten roof of his Acura, analyzing the old spots and the new. Remembering he’s limited on time, he bounces out of the car, grabs his thing, and locks his car. He walks into the complex and takes the stairs instead of the elevator, _this will be faster,_ he thinks as he huffs his way up the 2 flights of stairs. Finally arriving at his door, he takes his key and smoothly unlocks it, locking it once more when before settling inside.

Dream drops his bag by his front door and walks back to the bathroom. His head hangs low, future situations and outcomes rummaging his mind. He locks the door behind him when he enters the bathroom -- even though he lives alone. It makes him feel safer. He grips the hem of his shirt, lifting it over his head, and the motion flexes the muscles in his toned arms. The material brushes over the taut skin of his stomach, allowing a rush of cool air to goose over his skin. A shiver runs down his body as rests the shirt in the sink, then reaches down to his pants buckle. He uses his middle finger to pull back on the prong, a clicking noise ringing out as it comes undone. The belt slips through the loops, the end of it coming out of the last loop with utter ease. He lifts his right leg, then his left, pulling his pants off -- his boxers coming off as well -- and dropping them in the sink with his shirt.

His hands rest on the edges of the countertop, his head hanging down a bit. The reflection in the mirror stares at him blankly. _I’m really going to do this, huh._

He turns on the shower water and waits for it to warm up a little. He walks in, his body relaxing the moment the water hits him. The warm water runs down him, finding its way into every nook and cranny. He raises his hands to his hair as he walks more into the stream, slicking his hair back with the running water. The warmth soothes his hot skin, bringing him a sense of peace. As the water runs down through his hair, he gets a pump of shampoo and tries his best to evenly distribute it throughout, bubbles accumulating. He turns to face away from the water, tipping his head carefully back, the soap dripping down between his eyes as it runs. 

Dreams’ mind shuts off, letting the simple routine of his shower take over his motions. He finishes his hair, scrubs down his body, and then just stands there. His thoughts are blank, his mind is empty as he stares at the droplets of condensation that have built up on the shower walls. The place the water is directly hitting goes numb, the pounding of it wasting away at his chest. He finally breaks his blank stare and shuts off the water, then reaches out to get his towel, wrapping it around his waist after he roughly tousles his hair. 

_Left, right._ He steps out of the shower, holding his towel up with a firm grip -- exposing the veins more prominently in his hand. Chin drooping, he walks over to the mirror, where he leans over the sink like he's done a thousand times before. His hair drips into it, a pool of water gathering around the drain entrance. 

His thoughts finally reappear after ages of vanishing. He's right back where he started. He unlocks the door and peeks around a corner, checking if his roommate is home yet. _Oh who am I kidding, he’s never home this early._ Nonetheless, he races down the hall towards his room. Just in time, he makes it to his room.

“Hi, Cl-”

Dream slams the door on accident, cutting off his roommate, Oliver. “Sorry! Give me a sec.” He yells through his door while quickly throwing on a pair of sweats. When he opens his door, he’s greeted with that lovely, familiar face. “H-hey! You’re home early.”

“Yeah, dude. My girlfriend bailed on our date, so here I am.” Oliver looks more genuine than he’s seen in a while, which is very out of character.

“Oh, are things okay between the two of you?” He leans against the door frame, awaiting a conversation.

Oliver shifts, turning his body towards his own room. “Yeah, don’t worry about it.” As he starts to his room, Dream blurts out words he didn't think he would allow out.

“It’s Senior Night tonight I have to be there. Tag along?” His eyes widen slightly, _shit._ “We’d have to take separate cars though. I have something going on after.” He quickly and adamantly adds.

“I’ll think about it,” He sighs, “you’ll see me if I’m there.” Oliver closes the door to his bedroom, his sad aura following close behind him.

Dream turns back around, his shoulders hanging low. He can't tell if he's relaxed or unsettled, but he brushes the question away. He shuffles over to his dresser and begins to rummage through his jeans, searching for the right pair. _Here we go._ He gently pulls the dark, faded jeans out from under the folded pile, setting them atop the dresser. The white shirt he has been planning on wearing is already nicely laid out, along with a pair of casual sneakers. 

After getting himself dressed, he fluffs up his hair, sprays a light scent of cologne down his body -- a faint apple wooded scent -- and starts out for the door. He sees Oliver passed out on the couch as he turns the halls’ corner. _Dodged a bullet with that one._

Things have always been off with him, his Dream can never tell if it’s just because he’s never home, or the fact that he practically pays none of the rent. Most of his money probably goes towards strip clubs and other things, while Dreams’ is all rent, utilities, etc., which has caused rifts in their friendship. 

As he meets with the door, he remembers that his keys are still sitting on the kitchen counter where he last put them. His body flails around in a fit, a short chuckle leaving his lips because of it. He reaches across the counter, stretching on one leg to reach the keys. His fingers inch closer and closer until they finally reach their destination. He bounces back up, double-checking the room to make sure he actually got everything this time. He reaches the door once more and unlocks it, quietly creeping it open so as to not wake Oliver. He slides through the cracked door, quickly closing the door and locking it behind him.

  
  
  
When his nose meets the fresh air, he can’t help but close his eyes and deeply inhale, taking in all of the city's smells -- glorious or not. He easily decides to take the elevator down, to save himself from the extra exhaust. Thankfully, he caught the elevator at the right time, having it all to himself. _It’s too quiet._ He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his earbuds, connecting them to his phone and clicking ‘shuffle playlist’. The first song that comes on is just an acoustic piece, which soothes his state of mind. 

Through the soft music, he hears a _ding_ , and the elevator doors open. He exits the elevator and looks both ways, making sure there are no cars zooming through the parking lot. His walking matches with the rhythm of the song, strides widening to make it perfectly align. His hand instinctively reaches in his pocket for his keys, clicking the unlock button. 

The car ride to the school is short and sweet. His acoustic music is synced to the car now, making it possible for him to listen to it through the radio sound system. Dreams’ head sways back and forth to the beat, leaving a smile plastered on his face. As he neared the school though, his head started to sway less, and his smile faded to a blank stare. His eyes dart to the time on the car -- 5:53. _3 hours and 7 minutes until I can be with him._

_\-----_

Dream pulls his keys out of the ignition, placing his hands back on the wheel. He lays his head down on his arms -- which are crossed over each other -- and closes his eyes. _This is fine. It’s literally just a little gathering. George isn’t even going to be here. Let yourself have fun without these thoughts invading your head._ He abides by what he told himself, getting out of his car dopily. His eyes close tight a few times in an attempt to rid his tiredness, but it sticks around like a bad sore. Even so, he makes a promise to himself that he won't let it get in the way of having a good time. 

The first thing he does when he gets onto the field is get a bag of popcorn -- he’s starving. He practically scarfs it down in 2 minutes, his hands still digging around the bottom of the bag for the last crumbs, even after he’s well aware he finished it. 

Throughout the night, Dream jumps from friend group to friend group, just like he always does. He is the person you see around campus with no set few people -- he’s just with this friend or that one. He prefers it that way, creates less of an environment for drama. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he spots someone running up to him and turns in their direction. It’s Josiah.

“Hey, have you seen Mary? She was supposed to be here tonight… I’m worried.” 

Dream racks his brain, trying to remember if he’d seen her. His eyes wander the field looking for her. “I haven’t seen her actually, and I don’t see her now. Have you called her?”

“Yeah, she just declined and texted me, “I’m going away for a little bit, I’ll be back. I promise.” Josiah responds shakily, showing Dream the small, lit-up screen.

“Well, she seems okay. I’d give her a few days if you don't hear from her again, then I’d worry.” Dream lays a reassuring hand on his back, their eyes connecting. 

Josiah reaches up and places his hand on his, “You’re right, thank you.” 

Dream nods with a sentimental smile, his hand sliding off his back as he walks away. _Mary isn’t the type of person to want a break, but maybe she finally realized she needs one,_ he thinks as he walks to a new group of people. _1 more hour._

Time pulls forward as he enjoys conversation and laughs with the people he surrounds himself with. Before he knows it, it's nearing 9. _George._

\----

As the night of games and scattered chit-chat come to a close, he waves his last goodbyes and walks to his car with his head down. His breathing is shallow, surges of anxiety rushing to his head. _Why am I so… nervous? What even is this?_ He stops his mind from wandering much longer as he slams the car door shut behind him, plugging the keys into the ignition once more.

He pulls out his phone to check for any new messages, There’s one from George. 

_hey, I’m excited to see you :]_

_You’re so cute._ He responds with a sudden wave of confidence. George has always brought that out in him, which is why this feeling is confusing him. Through his thoughts, the darkness of the night engulfs him as he drives to their meeting place. Stars fill the cold night sky, making the streets just a little brighter. This place they are meeting at is 30 minutes out of the city, so it's a ways drive, but it's worth it to Dream.

Finally, he arrives in the parking lot of the little cafe, the windows filled with pastries. He eyes his surroundings, searching for George's car. As he skims the parking lot, his eyes reach a little silver Toyota, and he immediately knows it’s Georges. He jumps out of his car with an excited smile and heads towards the doors of the cafe. _There he is._ He makes his way over to the booth he was sitting at, coming up behind him. 

He wraps his arms around Georges’ neck playfully. “George!”

George jerks forward, almost slamming his head on the table. “Dream!” He whispers loudly through his teeth.

“Oh, did I _scare_ you?” Dream laughs teasingly, circling around to the other side of the booth. He lowers himself down onto the bench, his eyes pairing with Georges’ immediately. A silence blows over them as their nerves calm. “So, how are you?”

“I’m good, pretty boy. How are you?” George grins menacingly. 

Dreams’ heart flutters. _Pretty boy. That’s gonna stick. “_ I’m good, worn out from the day's events, but that's nothing new.” He looks down at his fingers, which are twiddling instinctively. 

George reaches his hand over towards him, ending up resting atop his own. “You alright? You seem more jittery than usual.” He looks honestly concerned.

“Oh, yeah I’m alright,” He hesitates, “I’m just really excited we finally got around to doing this after so long.” He smiles at the table, avoiding eye contact now.

“Hey, I am too. Don’t be so shy.” He giggles, squeezing Dream's hand before letting go of it. “Let’s order, shall we?” George reaches for the menu and slides it to him, insisting on his choice. 

Dream takes hold of the little menu and opens it, using his finger as a guide to keep his place while searching it. His finger lands on a chocolate Eclair plate, _perfect. He loves chocolate._ “I’m thinking this chocolate Eclair plate, good?” He turns the menu to face George, pointing at the dish. 

“You know I’ll love that.” 

Dream feels a redness overcome his cheeks but blocks it by waving down a waiter. A young woman makes eye contact with him, knowing it's her cue to take their order.

“Hey, you two! Nice to see you back after such a long time.” She exclaimed, her eyes floating between them. “What’s for today?” She turns her full attention towards Dream.

“We’re going to share the chocolate Eclair plate,” He responds, closing the menu and nudging it towards her gently.

“Good choice! I’ll have that right out!” She gladly takes the menu from his hand and heads to the back, where Dream can only faintly hear her instructing their order.

“Should be any minute now-” Dream stops his thinking out loud as he sees Georges’ eyes glued to the television set up on the wall. He switches his gaze to it -- it's the local news channel. _Doesn’t seem like something he’s usually interested in, but okay…_

A few moments pass as he watches the television, and out of the corner of his eye, he can see George shifting as if he were going to get up. He whips his head back, and sure enough, he’s out of his seat now. “Are you leaving?”

“Yeah, sorry, I completely forgot about something I have to do. I am truly sorry, Dream. I’ll make it up to you.” George walks away and slips through the door, leaving Dream empty. He turns back towards the screen and reads the texts that are printed across it. 

_Skyler Ellison has been reported missing_

_If you’ve seen them,_

_Please call this number._

_Skyler? Isn’t he always out and about? Huh._

An endless heap of questions generate inside his mind. _Why did George leave, and why right now? It’s ‘so important', yet he didn’t think of it earlier? No, stop. He wouldn’t just bail. Would he?_

“Clay, your chocolate Eclair plate?” It's a new waitress, so he might get away with avoiding questions like, “where did your friend go?”

“That’s me! Thanks so much, but could I actually get a box for this? I’ve lost my appetite.”

“Oh, sure! I’ll be right back with that box and your check.” Dream nods, thankful for how generous this place and its employees have been. 

She comes back with a box in one hand and his check in the other. Dream already has the cash out to pay, so he hands it to her. “Don’t worry about change. I appreciate you.” A wide smile spreads across her face as she nods giddily, then quickly walks back to the register. He looks back at his plate and takes in a heap of air, letting out just as fast as he breathed it in. There are 6 Eclairs plated neatly with a sprinkling of powdered sugar over top. He places each one into the box next to each other and shuts it, then moves it closer to the edge of the table. His pants glide smoothly across the leather-padded seats as he scoots himself over, finally getting close enough to the edge to inch out.

Dream walks out of the door without turning back, knowing he can’t make his smile look real enough. His paces speeds up and his heart begins to race. He knows his car is right there, but it seems as though it keeps inching away -- like he's never going to reach it. At last, his hand reaches the car door, pulling it open as quickly as he can. His legs swing across the front of his seat as he crashes down into it, his door crashing back into place with it. His head is spinning, but he has just enough strength to pull out his phone and click play on his acoustics playlist. As soon as the first chord is strummed, his mind starts to ease and his body starts to relax.

He starts the car engine and pulls out, his mind set on what he needs to do to completely calm his nerves. Star-gazing. He’s mapped out the perfect place to just camp out and watch the stars for however many hours he needs to. The drive isn’t too far, 45 minutes maybe. 

He connects his phone to the stereo once more so his surroundings can be filled with sweet, acoustic music. A few minutes of the music playing on the stereo, and his body is fully relaxed and going with the flow of the car. His breathing regulates again because as he escaped all of the city lights, the sky was brighter than them -- filled with the brightest stars. They’re beautiful. His eyes stay on the road for the most part, but he can't help but open his roof window to take occasional glimpses up. 

Finally, he reaches his destination: a totally empty field of grasses and close to dead flowers. Although it may not be so pretty in the daytime, it sure is when the night is alive. He parks his car in the designated area he's made for himself and stops his car. One thing he loves about his car is that the music connected to it will still play, even when the car is off. He turns up the radio and cracks the windows so the acoustics can be clearly heard from the outside. 

  
His favorite thing to do is climb up on the top of his car and just lay there, watching as new stars appear through the dotted night sky; which is exactly his plan tonight. He makes his way onto the roof, making sure not to leave any dents or scratches as he does so. Once he's at the top, he gets himself comfortably on his back. He longingly thinks, _if George stayed, he could be here with me right now, in my arms._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed!  
> If you read the Prequel for this story, you should be noticing little hints and bits throughout this... ;D  
> From this point on, the warnings for this story will need to be paid attention to. I will always tag what the story will include in the beginning notes -- gore, manipulation, etc. -- so just be wary of that!  
> Again, thank you for your patience -- I appreciate you!

**Author's Note:**

> What a cliffhanger, huh ;D 
> 
> I've already started the next chapter, I'm super duper excited. I don't know how often I'll be posting chapters, may not be completely consistent, but I won't leave you hanging for too long :) 
> 
> I hope you liked this.... it's only the beginning....


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